


A (K)night to Remember

by LadyMaya



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Ren Faire, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 15:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30057681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMaya/pseuds/LadyMaya
Summary: James finds a space for himself in the Quartermaster's personal life. Picking up a sword isn't quite what he expected but it was worth it.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	A (K)night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Danger_Zone24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danger_Zone24/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A (K)Night To Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777808) by [Danger_Zone24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danger_Zone24/pseuds/Danger_Zone24). 



> This is for the amazing Danger_Zone24 who was extraordinarily patient with me during some personal losses and the broken machinery that caused me to be late in the first place. Their art was stunning and hopefully, I've done it justice.
> 
> You can also find their very inspiring work here:  
> https://knightryder24.tumblr.com/post/644452268648873984/a-knight-to-remember-00q-reverse-big-bang

When Q was 15 he'd joined the LARP group at his university. The chance to run around and bop others without worry too good to pass up in the deeply dissatisfying situation he'd found himself in. He'd been one of the youngest students as a firstie, turning fifteen near the middle of the school year. There'd been one other kid, another boy only 13 years old with a chaperone. Rumour had it he'd been abused at his secondary school both because of his IQ and his pretty face. Q had proved the rumour true and made a few adjustments to the man's accommodations in prison. The kid had a smart mouth and they'd become friends of a sort. His age hadn't endeared him to any one of the other students and regularly destroying the grading curve hadn't helped matters. 

With one friend, no family left and a deep well of anger that was barely leashed he'd had a hard time settling. When the flyer for a LARP group came around he was willing to ignore his noodle arms for the chance to express a little of his anger in a more productive manner. Well, that's what he'd told the therapist and lawyer when asked why he needed to increase his monthly trust allowance anyway. The increase had bought him enough cash to get there and back again every week as well as the fees and if he stuck it out for six months he'd be given a bonus payment to fit out whatever he needed. 

Once at the LARP home ground, he'd been just another teen nerd. There were a dozen of them running around from various locations and an equal number of adults. There'd been four stores set up in a semi-permanent manner - an armoury, kitchen, salle or weapons training room and a scribe's training room - along with the fighting ring. Over the years they'd seen most of those rooms gain a permanent home, plus a jousting field, smithy and storage amongst others. 

The smithy – a fully functional and productive one run by a lovely set of twins – had afforded him a chance to tinker and invent and create to his heart's content had lent a wiry strength to his thin frame. Learning the basics of swordplay as a physical discipline had led to a fun lesson on more euphemistic swordplay too. Both lessons were ones he'd taken to heart over the years. 

With Venessa and Arthur leading the way he'd taken to offering his time as a volunteer as the grounds became more stable. Eventually, he'd held all the official titles, but most often he was found in the thick of things, fixing armour, jerry-rigging fencing and generally playing tinkerer to the entire Faire. 

Becoming Q in the wake of Boothroyd's unexpected death had thrown rather a large wrench in his ten-year plan. He'd jumped from fourth to in charge to head of the entire department in a matter of minutes as the fatalities came in. Boothroyd had been right under the explosion, and his third Amelia had been with him. While Dianne, code name R, hadn't been in the blast range she'd taken the kind of hit that kept a woman of nearly fifty years in a hospital for too long to keep control of a department. In the nearly a year since he'd been able to scale back only a little of his time and Mallory had demanded that he and Bond both take some of their entirely too large annual leave balances. 

Q was now staring at an email from Venessa – the smith who had taught him so much – and wondering when he'd sent in his RSVP in the first place to the year's Autumn Renaissance Faire. Heading the department hadn't left him much time to dedicate to lessons lately but he'd kept up with the home exercises and hadn't lost too much definition in the last few months. 

_Dear Q,_

__

__

_I know you already RSVP'd and I'm so glad to see you this weekend. Unfortunately, Derrick and Marcus are both ill, and Jonathon is in the hospital getting pins in his leg – did you hear about his accident? I know you're not usually one to stand in the spotlight, but we need a King to open the fair and run the tourney. You're the best at the patter needed, and Mara has promised to be on her best behaviour if you'll be her King for the event. She's also promised that, and I quote "if he doesn't come, I'll ask Richard to be King and pipe it straight into his ear piece. I know how much he hates that man." She's getting quite good at manipulation, all that work in Customer Service I suppose._

Anyway, call me soon, the Tourney is this weekend and we need an answer. 

~V 

'Hitting people with sticks doesn't really seem like your kind of activity, dear quartermaster.' Q cursed, sloshing tea over the table as he spun to look at the agent who had yet again managed to sneak up on him. 

'One of these days Bond you'll end up with a knife or poison or something in you because you've startled me. Practice being a civilian and make some noise!' 

Bond blithely continued, ignoring the interruption, 'but if you're in need of an extra set of hands, I could certainly be persuaded to offer mine. Though it's been some time since my fencing days, I'm sure it wouldn't take long to pick up.' 

'Fencing will hardly serve you in a melee, Bond. No wait, you're not coming. I'm probably not even going.' 

'Don't be ridiculous Q, of course, you're going, V needs you. You wouldn't want to disappoint,' here Bond hesitated before deciding not to assume, 'them now would you?' 

'And why would I invite you along? I like to keep my personal and professional lives separated thank you.' 

Q frowned, Bond's charming grin didn't work on him anymore thankfully, but the man had an irritating habit of getting his way anyway. Q was almost curious about how he'd be convinced this time. 

'It's quite simple, if I'm with you, Mallory will only have one area to monitor instead of two and you know he'd rather not have to worry about what I’m getting up to without your oversight.' 

Q blinked. 'That's pathetic Bond. Honestly, Mallory? You who can charm a double agent into your bed and back to our side, is trying to use our boss? What's really going through your head?' 

Q watched as Bond stilled, arms twitching slightly into a new place and his centre of gravity leaned back, out of Qs personal space. A faint trace of discomfort crossing the Q sighed, reverse psychology was worse when you knew it was being employed and yet you still couldn't avoid the trap. Picture perfect bloody special agent, he sighed mentally. 

'Nothing at all, merely offering a hand to a fellow Queen's Man. Have a good time on your trip Quartermaster.' 

'If, and I stress if, I let you come you make no snide comments about what we do, no silly over the top backstories. We work together, I'm in engineering and IT and you stick to your regular backstory. Also – flirting is acceptable but you fuck no one. I’m not dealing with your conquests sighing over you for the next ten years.'

'You wound me, dear Q. I'm never over the top.' 

Q frowned, as a bolt of inspiration struck. 'You just want to know my name.' 

The wicked smirk on the agents face did not bode well for his blood pressure. 'Do you need to bring any large equipment, or will the Audi be enough to drive up?' 

'You're not driving an Audi all the bloody way out there. We'll take my car. I'll pick you up on Thursday lunch and with some luck, we'll be there by nightfall.' 

'And what should I pack? I'm afraid I don't have a suit of armour just lying around.' 

Q smirked, 'that's fine, we do. Bring heavy-duty clothing, denim, leather, that sort of thing. Most people dress to the occasion, but I doubt you're hiding a 14th-century travelling cloak in your wardrobe.' 

Bond looked startled, 'ah, no I can't say that I do. I might have to raid Alec's wardrobe for some jeans come to think of it.' 

With a somewhat distracted nod, Bond left the Quartermasters office and headed for the garage. He'd not honestly expected to get an invitation to spend the weekend with the man, he'd only meant to needle him but he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to it. Over the years since he'd first earned his status as a Double 0, he'd had a thousand interactions with the people at MI6. Some were superficial, like the mix up that had taken one glare and a few harsh words to get his Aston Martin out of the carpool, and some were intimate, like the night he'd spent with Eve. Some had been fraught with tension and ended badly - usually knives or guns, but a bomb once or twice - and some had been so easy they'd been high on tension for days afterwards waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

His interactions with Q though had been different from the start. For one the man hadn't ever hesitated to look him in the eye. Amelia, God rest her soul, could barely speak with him when she ran his missions, and some of the other techs could be cowed with a look. R was different of course. She had been R since before Boothroyd had even started and he'd been treated with much the same attitude as a young pup who got too close, a cuff over the ear and sent packing. Q had stood up to him, demanded his respect and pointed out the issues in his plans even as he immediately worked to action them. He was also exceptional at giving him what he needed for any mission, though he was stingy with the explosives. 

Alec was the only other person he'd had since becoming 007 that -worked with him. Who could match his mental pathways to follow along and come out with the same ideas? They'd been friendly at the academy together when they met, and when they'd both landed at the same navy base it had only made the friendship they'd started at school better. He felt guilty occasionally that Alec had followed him into government work, but the relief at finding 008 on his mission to blow up (for once the actual mission) the compound in a hellhole on the African continent had been nearly overwhelming. 

He nodded to the gate guard as he nosed the Audi out into the London traffic, heading for the highway. A long drive might clear his head before he made his way back to Alec's couch. After his mostly dead Turkish holiday, his things had been sold, thrown or destroyed as per his will. He'd honestly not expected to return to life as James Bond and hadn't bothered to send his lawyers the code phrase when he was first declared dead. He couldn't say he regretted it either, though the loss of his gun collection had hurt. The important things had been given to Alec: the money, the few photos he had of his life before 007 and the knife his father had given him before he left for the mountaineering holiday that had killed the man and his mother. 

Skyscrapers gave way to highways and eventually, James found himself on the small road that lead to his favourite gun range, pastures with old winding stone barriers and small cottages that looked like something from another age dotting the landscape. He pulled in, locking the car and heading for the signing desk. He'd kept his personal weapon but signed out a rifle too, paying for the hire of ear pieces and targets as well. Nearly an hour after that he'd finally settled something, a feeling that had been missing for nearly a year and he resolved to start looking for an apartment instead of sleeping on Alec's admittedly comfortable couch for another year. Though between the missions and the sleepless nights he'd probably only spend a month there anyway. 

Thursday dawned clear but cold, and Q filled the truck with his usual gear, and the "official" robes he'd been gifted a few years back. They were more yellow than gold, a deep mustard that looked surprisingly good on his frame, with brown banding and matching leather trousers and gloves. As king, he'd be wearing the robes for most of the day, but if he participated in any of the events he'd leave them aside for a tight-fitting jerkin instead. The weapons were blunted on edge and point by the law of the grounds, so bare arms would earn him a few bruises but nothing that would need stitches. His sword, boots and personal IT all when onto the backseat and the coffee and pastries into the centre console. 

Alec's house was two mews houses with one missing wall on the second floor and a doorway between them on the first. The floor had been gutted, replaced by a frankly ridiculous chef style kitchen with gleaming stainless steel and tile backing, solid wooden benchtops and in pride of place a whistling kettle for the stove next to a barrister style coffee machine. The space was saved from finickiness by the dishes drying on the rack, coffee and milk splashes on the bench and, Q noted with a sense of bewilderment, child's artwork on the fridge. 

Bond was slumped, head in his arms, a travel mug of something seaming gently beside him. He'd lifted his head enough to see Q enter the kitchen before letting fall again, the picture of "way too early". 

'Given that it's nearly midday, why do you look like it's too early?' 

'I've been looking for apartments. I may have completely lost track of time last night. I then had to run around in Alecs' mess of a wardrobe in order to find something that fit.' Bond waved at himself vaguely, 'the thighs a bit tight, but the length is good enough and he had a leather vest so I pulled that over a long sleeved henley. Acceptable?' 

'Alec won't mind if they get stained or torn?' 

'He'll just buy more, honestly Q. It's not like a five thousand dollar suit and all of his sentimental items are held at the bank.; 

'Then yes, you're fine. I'm guessing you've at least eaten breakfast? 

'Breakfast, and a coffee. This is for the road.' 

'Then shall we leave? You can nap in the backseat if you need to.' 

Bond unfolded from the table, and Q could see what he meant about the slightly too tight over the thighs. The brown leather vest was cut low under the arms and neck, but high at the back, offering a large amount of movement and tied close to the agent's frame. It was a very good look fo the man. 

Settling behind the wheel he passed over the music player after Bond threw a duffle bag into the back seat and pulled into the traffic. 

'We're heading four hours out, to Wensleydale Bed and Breakfast', he explained. 'I usually fill the drive with bardic music to get into the headspace but as King I"ll have an entire patter to deal with so I'm happy to listen to whatever you'd like. 

'Bardic sounds like something I'm going to be listening to all weekend, do you mind jazz?' 

'There are a few playlists, feel free to play whichever. The pastries are for us both to munch if you need a snack. We'll get fed once we get to the grounds.' 

'I thought it was a sports ground and theatre? How does a bed and breakfast have room for what I presume is a crowd of people attempting to hit each other?' 

'The grounds came first, it's a half rebuilt castle. There's a proper tourney ground, a feasting kitchen – I mean it there's enough room to spit a full pig on one of the fireplaces inside it – plus the smithy and the associated storage and store fronts.' 

'And this V who's requesting your help?' 

'Venessa and her twin brother run the smithy. They set it up when I was in uni, the owner of the castle offered them a deal to get it running again. Venessa was working on her PhD at the time, a history of smithing through the British Isles. She wanted to understand the processes better. In the end, she ended up becoming a master smith, apprenticing with another blacksmith for the basics, and getting tutoring in more specific items from various others. It's grown from a few trinkets and horseshoes to a proper blacksmith selling everything from period authentic armour and weapons and custom pieces for refurbishing. They've got a steady business in the regular stuff too – nails and jewelry wire, but they also do prop weapons and custom pieces for movie sets.' 

'That's quite the broad scope of work. Though I suppose diversifying in a dying art is a good way to keep it going,' Bond said, reaching for a pastry. 

'I think she'd be happy to give up the basic stuff now since they get so much on the rest but she's got regulars and doesn't want to disappoint. Arthur, her twin, found himself a niche in turning the smithy into a viable career. He runs the admin, the storefront, uses some of the wire to make jewelry in both masculine and feminine forms and keeps the calendar and stock up to date. He's the one who talked with Rufus when Rufus realised the group was big enough that we were getting guests who needed a place to stay as well as our own people. 

Rufus thought it was a great idea for some quick cash. We get cheaper rates, and he gets the money to continue renovating an investment he'd thought he was going to lose money on. The rooms are decent too. He's put a lot of effort into it. We do a deal for 2 large events of four days, and the normal monthly get togethers that are only 2. Weddings and other events get anything else, last year there were two weddings in the winter when we don't gather, and in spring one wedding party was late leaving on the Thursday morning so they stayed for the LARP event too. It was pretty great, we got a couple of new regulars from it.' 

'You're close with them. Even though you work what, 60 hours a week? 70?' 

'Lately, it's been closer to 70, but that's why we're on our way to a four day Renaissance Faire Live Action Role Play event. I think Mallory might have stroked out if we'd stayed any longer.' 

Bond was quiet for a moment. 

'He's a politician, but he takes care of his people. It's not,' he trailed off. 

'M cared personally, even when she made the hard choices. Mallory is more about the numbers than M, but his attention to the health and wellbeing of his staff isn't to be denied.' 

'Yes, I suppose that's it. It's confronting to be back in a world of defined lines, M didn't run the 00s as military agents, but Mallory does. It's been good to have a commander again. I didn't think I'd appreciate it.' 

They fell silent after that, watching the city fade into the distance and the soft greenery of pastures take its place. Small towns passed and a break for human things before the Bed and Breakfast finally came into view. The parking lot was bustling, full of shouted greetings and commands to get out of the way, people moving what looked to be stage parts, and AV gear and in general everything one needed for a rather well to do county fair. The scent of sweet baking and roasted meat mixed in with the pungent scent of horse manure and leather and in between it all was the curious sound of metals clanging, clicking and chiming. 

The energy of the area was insane and Bond felt oddly at home amidst the hustle, something about the way the chaos was carefully contained. The horses went to one area and their trailers were moved to parking at the back of the lot, the stage and stall pieces were moved from person to person and set against the walls in a manner that looked chaotic but Bond could see that the stage was growing as the front of those piles disappeared and the stalls too were filling out in a neat line along the palisade. James followed Q, hands full of arcane things and duffle slung over his back as they wound their way across to the most solid metal sounds. They resolved into the studied bang of hammer on an anvil and as James rounded the corner he could see the open smithy with Venessa working away on a metal pipe. Q gestured for him to put his gear onto a spare table and he tucked the duffle underneath as Q spoke with the smith. 

'Lyndon darling! You'll have to wait a few minutes while I finish fixing the ends for Peter, his beast of a car drove over the piping they need for the gazebo.' 

'Hello V, I just wanted to store my gear while we figure out where I need to be. Also to introduce you to James before I set him loose and he gets into trouble.' 

The clanging stopped as Venessa picked up the piping and looked it over critically. 

'Well, that'll do for now. He might need to buy a new support if this was so flimsy a car could crush it. Might be a weakness in the metal.' She put it aside and pulled off the apron, leaving her in jeans and a tank top. James could only stare bemused as the heavily muscled 5 foot nothing woman threw herself at Q for a hug. He'd been well aware the quartermaster was capable of handling himself but picking up someone who likely weighed as much as Bond was a surprise. 

'It's been far too long, your work is beastly for not giving you time for this!' 

'It's fine V, there was a large turnover and several heads left all at once and took some of the best of our people with them. It's sorted now though.' 

'Oh fine, you're here and you've brought your own knight even. I'm so pleased for you darling!' 

James couldn't help but be amused at the sheer horror that crossed Q's face. 'Not like that I didn't! He's tagging along because he's a helpless puppy and needed a place to crash!' 

'I object to helpless,' James smoothly interjected, offering his hand to Venessa, 'I'll cop to the puppy eyes though. James Bond, it's a pleasure to meet you.' 

'And you as well. Lyndon's organised a welcome gift for you! Now it was made for the market, so it may not be something you'll use for good, but Regan was kind enough to organise the crest to be painted and it's dried properly so you can use it this weekend.' 

Using the hand she hadn't let go of she tugged him over to a table tucked away in the corner. Given the location and shape, he assumed it was a shield hidden under the drop cloth. A corner of his mind was stunned that Q had organised something personal for him when he'd effectively invited himself along, but mostly he was incredibly curious. 

Venessa whipped off the cloth and revealed the shield. 

'The field is azure, for loyalty and truth. A gulles, or red, border is for a warrior. The Stag is demi guardant, which is for one who fights when provoked, but also a guardian and the crown usually means royalty but also in service to the crown. What do you think?' 

James could only stare in shock at the weaving of Skyfall and MI6 in front of him. 

'It's amazing, thank you, Venessa. Please point out Regan so I can thank them as well. I've no idea how to use it really, but I look forward to learning.' 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirl of movement and noise, introductions to people he took as much care to learn as he would for any op, building up the last parts of the faire stalls and helping set up anything he was asked. By the time he found Q for dinner, he'd worked harder than most ops and was cautiously ready for the events tomorrow. 

'How did you manage that shield?' He asked, savouring the warm bread and local butter as he eyed the plate piled high with roasted vegetables and beef, with hearty gravy too. 

'Fun coincidence that – all the symbolism is true. I had a fair giggle over it while I was talking with Regan. He does custom heraldry for the group since he works for the historic society by day and has a side business as an artist. Had fun so far?' 

'Strangely yes, the people here are very,' he cast about for the word, 'invested in having a good time and sharing that with others. No one even cares that I've never been before and just explains what they need. It's quite odd compared to my day job.' 

'I understand, I had a few staff who nearly died of shock when they expected me to yell and instead just explained and moved on. We work hard to make sure that kind of energy stays here.' 

Between the physical work and heavy food Bond was nearly yawning by the time they'd finished their meal. The dessert pies had ben small but full of butter and berries, sweet and tangy at the same time. He followed behind Q as they wound their way to the B&B side, barely noticing that their gear had already been placed inside before he tumbled onto the bed. 

'I'll taking a shower, and then I've a few emails I need to go over, but I'll be ready to turn off the lights in an hour.' 

James rolled over and eyed the quartermaster. 'Certainly. I have a book in the bag to read so take your time, you know I can sleep anywhere. By the way, Lyndon, what exactly will I be doing tomorrow?' 

He couldn't help but be afraid of the sharp grin he got in answer. 

'I can't have MI6s best left unable to use that pretty shield now can I? Training my dear Bond, tomorrow is training.' 

Morning came later than expected and Bond dressed similarly to yesterday, jeans that were slightly less tight and another Henley with the vest he'd left aside after arriving yesterday. It might have given him some decent range of movement, but he'd worked up a sweat early on and decided not to continue. Q however was in fitted robes of mustard yellow, with leather banding at the upper and lower arms, leather trousers and a pair of boots. Under the robes was a shirt with leather ties, and ties at his waist was a belt with extra loops. The loops were explained when Q unrolled one of the bags from yesterday revealing a short knife that secured into the loops and a sword that used the loops for stability to keep the sword at his side. 

'Bring that shield James, we'll have breakfast, but training starts at 10, so you'll want some time to get it settled. I'll be there for the start, but I'll also have to spend most of the day being King, so if you can't find me at lunch, just ask for the King. You'll sit next to me at dinner, but I'll probably not see you at lunch.' 

Breakfast seemed a long time ago by the time he'd been kitted out with a breastplate for his chest, pauldrons for his shoulders, a placket for his stomach, tassets for the upper thighs and greaves for his shins, plus the sword and shield. By the time they'd gone over the basic safety briefing, the first forms of using a sword and shield, the actual attempt to use his borrowed sword was almost anticlimactic. He learned quickly that the muscles used to pushups and parkour were not as comfortable swinging a 2kg pole. Lunging forward he struck at the dummy; right side middle, reverse left upper, raise shield, stab forward and retreat. 

Lunch was a welcome relief, removing the extra weight of armour leaving him staggering a little at the difference but he tucked it away neatly, his shield over the top and a slip of paper with his name and cubby on it for collection later. Food eaten, he wandered the stalls for Christmas gifts, picking out a handwoven scarf for Moneypenny and a set of earrings for Tanners wife. Alec got a knife, one of Venessa's, with an edge nearly as good as their military issue, though he wasn't sure if it would hold as long. Tanner got an ale mug and Dianne a delicate glass blown cat sitting primly upright with its tail over its paws. He found an armband for Mallory, one that could be attached to a watchband or left one its own. Time up, he made his way back to the fighters rink and settled back into the armour. 

The next day followed a similar pattern, but the afternoon bought a hilarious couple of hours listening to Q's patter as King while the jousting took place. At the dinner that night he finally met Mara, Queen of the tourney and found a few stories of Lyndon as a teen and the beginnings of the company. As Q had asked, he'd been polite, keeping to the backstory Q had given them and had enjoyed several pints with the fellow trainees. It had taken him a few hours but he'd finally realised that they were all new to the LARP grounds and were looking to join as members, and the weekend was both training and trial for them. Most of them already knew someone who had joined but there were a few who had no one and wanted to check out what it all meant. James had happily explained that he was there with the King, and training to be a knight, leaving the lot of them to spread the rumour that the King had a "champion" nudge-nudge, wink-wink. Q's face, when he'd learned of that particular rumour, had ben priceless and had carried him through the rest of Saturday's training. 

Sunday had dawned clear, but still wet from the overnight rain, and the fair grounds were quickly reduced to mud where the traffic weren't able to keep to the walkways. Climbing into the armour for the last time was oddly thought provoking, and he watched as Lyndon dressed, contemplating if he'd ever return. His job wasn't easy to manage other commitments with, but, he looked over at Lyndon, he wanted it. He wanted this, the friendship they were building and maybe something more too. He took a quick run to warm up, knowing that free sparring against the other trainees would be harder than the basic routines they'd been learning. More due to his own adrenaline response than due to the new weaponry. He'd have to hold back to avoid harming anyone but he was rather looking forward to it. 

Three hours later, sweat soaked and exhilarated, having won the days bout of free sparring, he knelt before King Lyndon of Avalon and accepted his knighthood. 

'Arise, Sir James of Skyfall, may your enemies tremble before you.' 

FIN


End file.
